i await a guardian
by cupid-painted-blind
Summary: They look noble, but when you corner them, they just run. —- Lily, alone and not alone with the suffering of war. Pre-Lily/James. Third of a series; follows "Common Stories" and "in this moment i am happy."


**Title**: i await a guardian  
><strong>Author<strong>: andromeda3116/cupid-painted-blind  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG, just because it's not really a kid-friendly thing.  
><strong>CharactersPairings**: Lily Evans, James Potter; pre-Lily/James  
><strong>Summary<strong>: They look noble, but when you corner them, they just run. Lily, alone and not alone with the suffering of war.  
><strong>AN**: Follows, and references, _Common Stories_, and also references a piece I haven't yet written that comes between that story and this.

* * *

><p><em>expecto patronum<br>_(I await a guardian.)

"Lily Evans," McGonagall says, voice cutting into Professor Flitwick's lecture without apology. The whole class turns, and Lily sees a grim set to McGonagall's lips that makes her heart drop through her stomach.

"Yes?" she asks slowly.

"Come with me."

* * *

><p>At first, she's numb. When McGonagall tells her the news - <em>they were found dead at seven o'clock this morning<em> - it doesn't register completely. Her responses are mechanical.

"Oh," she says emotionlessly. "The funeral, will - I'll be able to leave to attend, right?"

McGonagall looks at her in a strange way and says, "Of course. Your sister and her husband are making the arrangements. We've arranged tickets for you to leave tomorrow and return the following Wednesday."

"Oh, I don't think I'll need that long off," she says automatically. "Just a weekend should be fine. I don't want to miss too much class."

"The tickets are already arranged, I'm afraid," the professor replies softly, as though she knows something Lily doesn't.

* * *

><p>And then the anger; as she leaves to go to her next class, she sees Severus in the hallway and he looks right at her and that softness comes over his face like it always does, and it turns her stomach like it used to not. Paranoid fury hits her with all the force of a lightning bolt.<p>

"_You_," she hisses as he comes near, and his eyes light up because she's talking to him again, but then falter at the look on her face. "Are you happy now?" she asks, voice choking and wavering and catching in her throat. "You got your revenge?"

He has the gall to look confused. "I don't - " he starts, but then one of his Death Eater friends catches him by the arm.

"Merlin, Severus, when you will learn that mudbloods aren't worth it?" Narcissa Black says, rolling her eyes, and Lily starts to snarl at the exact same moment that the sorrow hits.

Mudbloods aren't worth it; how much less value do muggles have?

She whirls around and runs through the halls until she's out of the building, blinded with something between intense grief and intense nostalgia and intense _oppression_.

* * *

><p>Several hours after midnight, Lily still hasn't slept, or even returned to her dorm. She's curled up in a ball in an alcove on the seventh floor, focusing all of her energy onto summoning a patronus - on summoning up a happy enough memory to bring out anything other than pale smoke.<p>

Her childhood is tainted, now. Sev - no, _Snape_, now, he's not the boy she used to know - _told them_. He told his Death Eater friends where to find her parents. Did he think she would run back to him, desperate for a familiar pair of arms to hold her, no matter whose arms they were? Did he think she would back down and submit to being the slave he must want her to be? Or did he just want to cause her as much pain as possible?

Nothing from childhood will do, and most of her memories from Hogwarts won't, either. She tries to think of something wonderful, some bubble of joy still nestled within her, but nothing comes to mind.

She hasn't cried yet. It's still too numb, too foreign. _Dead._ Her parents. Dead, because of her, because she had faith in the boy that no one else would pay attention to, because she is a witch and because she is not pureblood and so she will never be _worth it_, not to the world she's about to walk into.

She'll always be defined by her blood, and if not her blood, then her gender, and if not her gender, then her looks. Lily is a pretty female mudblood, and no matter how hard she strives to be taken seriously, that patronizing look still comes into people's eyes when she says that she wants to be an Auror, dammit, that women and muggle-borns can be - she can be -

Lily closes her eyes because she's been staring at her wand for what must be hours, and she's exhausted in a way that runs deeper than her bones. Mum was so proud of her. So excited that her daughter was so _unique_ and so gifted and was destined for such great things.

Mum.

_Oh, God_, she thinks. _Oh, mother._

Her eyes grow hot and her throat turns raw but the tears don't fall, the sobs don't wreck her body, the emotions won't connect. She tries to think about it, to face it, to accept it, but she _can't_. Her mind slips away from the fact and latches onto fury and loathing for someone she used to love.

She stares back at her wand. _Expecto Patronum. Expecto Patronum._

A moment rises to mind: a lull in the chaos, preparing for sixth-year exams, a late-night trip to the kitchens and a run-in with a boy she's supposed to hate. They sit at one of the tables opposite each other, sharing a bowl of strawberries and fighting over the last bit of cream, and she asks the question that's been burning in her mind for half the year.

_What happened that night? With Sirius, and Severus? I - I wasn't trying to spy, but I heard yelling and... what happened?_

And he looks at her with this strange twist in his face and he says _I gave up on my brother when he needed me most. _

They connect, over strawberries and what it feels like to watch your best friend run headlong into an awful place and what it's like to look at them and know that you cannot follow them down that path.

It's not a happy memory - in fact, it's terribly painful - but it's the most honest thing she can remember that isn't tainted by Severus Snape.

_Expecto Patronum._

It isn't much. It's a wispy, flickering kangaroo, but seeing it lends her a small measure of peace. She's always liked kangaroos, and seeing them makes her happy, or at least less numb.

Lily isn't paying attention to her surroundings; she's focused on maintaining the little kangaroo because it's making her feel _better_ and she's desperate for some kind of solace. So, when he talks, it jolts her out of her trance, and the patronus disappears, leaving her ice-cold inside.

"I heard about what happened," James Potter says, hands stuffed in his pockets, still staring at the place where the kangaroo used to be.

"I'm sure," she whispers, because she isn't sure she can manage anything louder.

"I'd ask if you wanted to talk about it," he starts, shifting uncomfortably and sliding down the wall to sit next to her, "but you probably don't."

She doesn't reply for a long time, and when she does, it's still in this hoarse, small whisper. "You were right," she says blankly. "You were right about Snape. He - he knew where they lived, he must have told them - he - " she cuts herself off before she breaks. James is looking at the ceiling.

"No," he says slowly. "Or maybe I might not have been right about him, if things had been different. I..." he trails off, screwing up his face like there's something he wants to say but doesn't know if he should.

"You?" she prompts, and he sighs.

"I don't think Snape did it, or if he did, it wasn't on purpose," he says finally. "You two grew up in the same neighborhood, right?" he asks, glancing at her. "Or something like that, you were friends before Hogwarts. I'm sure he told his friends where he lived, and... well, they're good at... yeah," he mutters, looking away.

It's a perfectly rational conclusion, but Lily doesn't want to be rational right now.

"Why did you come here?" she asks him, finally turning towards him. "It's the dead of night, what are you doing up at this hour?"

He looks at her for a moment, and there's something in his face that's _different_ than the James Potter she knows. "Because you're my friend," he says firmly, with an intense sort of conviction. "And when one of my friends is hurting, I try to help them. And - " he sighs, and his face softens, and for a horrible second she thinks that he's about to say he's in love with her and she'll have to run away again, but instead, he says, "Lily, no one should have to do this alone, least of all you."

Now, the tears well up in her eyes, and she turns away to hide them. It's not weakness - it really isn't - but Lily doesn't want to be the girl who goes sobbing to the first boy who acts concerned when she's grieving. James Potter sees it as reaching out to someone he cares about and trying to help her cope, but Lily just sees it as another way that she can't rely on herself.

She's been doing it alone for a long time now, since her best friend abandoned her and betrayed her. She can do this alone, too.

But James knows. She's seen him at the Owlery, reading over letters with stones in his eyes, and she sometimes wonders how many people in his life have been killed, or been injured, or been tortured by these same people who've killed her -

That's what's different in his face. It's not pity, but it's empathy. He's probably been sitting right here before, trying to lock away memories of people who have died or suffered horribly.

It just isn't _enough_, right now. It isn't enough that he's been where she is before because he isn't where she is _now._

"I'm a mudblood," she says bitterly. "I have to do it alone."

"You're a _witch_," he snaps, causing her to jump. "You're one of_ us_. You don't _have_ to do it alone."

She swallows hard, still looking away, and can't find words. Lily has never been "one of us" - she's the odd one out, the know-it-all who only has friends at exam time. The only people who've ever truly accepted _her_ - not her talents, or her looks, but _Lily_ as she is - were her parents and Snape, and all of them are gone now.

Why is he here? Has he been looking for her, or waiting for her to go back to the dorm? He was always so intent on getting her to fall in love with him, and she isn't sure she can trust him when he says that he considers her a friend. Why would he be here, if he wasn't trying to use her weakness against her?

"_Expecto Patronum_," she whispers, willing the little kangaroo to come back and pull her out of herself; she isn't so paranoid when she isn't so withdrawn. It limps from her wand, a vaguely kangaroo-shaped blob that tries to bounce, and it's so sad that it almost makes her smile.

"Kangaroos?" James asks. "I didn't expect your patronus to be a kangaroo."

"I've always liked them," she replies hollowly. "They're smart and resourceful and they suffer through some of the worst dry seasons in the world but they never let it beat them down. Plus, I like the way they hop," she adds, with a little breath of a laugh. "It's cute." She hesitates, but then decides that she'd rather follow this conversation than the other, or any other that might be brewing in James Potter's head. "What's yours?"

"A lion," he replies, too quickly, and she glances at him, eyebrow raised. He smiles. "Yeah, I didn't really think you'd fall for it. Sirius swears his is a sasquatch, but he won't ever show anyone." There's a long moment, and then he runs his hand through his hair. "It's a stag," he answers finally, with a little wince.

"What's wrong with stags?" she asks vaguely, and he looks sideways at her. "They're noble creatures, aren't they?"

"They look noble," he says, sighing. "But when you corner them, they just run."

She isn't really listening anymore. Her wispy kangaroo isn't making her feel any better, and James Potter's attempts at distracting her aren't, either. It seems like hours that they sit in cold silence in the hallway, watching the vapor of her patronus fade, but it's probably only a few minutes before he reaches out and touches her shoulder. She starts, and looks at his hand.

"You should get some sleep," he murmurs, but she shakes her head.

"No, I - I can't sleep," she replies, and it's almost urgent when it comes out of her mouth. _It'll be real when I wake up_, she thinks, and she doesn't want it to be real. "Maybe I'm the deer," she mutters under her breath. "When you corner me, I just run," she adds so quietly that she doubts he can hear her.

James watches her for a long moment, before settling down into a comfortable position against the wall. "All right," he says softly.

_Expecto Patronum_, she thinks, slumping against the wall, half-falling onto his shoulder. Not even smoke comes out of her wand.

They stay like that until exhaustion takes over, and she falls into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

* * *

><p>It's late, late in the day when she wakes up, alone in her bed with the curtains drawn. She's confused for a moment - why didn't her dormmates wake her for class? - until she remembers, and it settles on her like two miles of ocean, empty and icy and <em>heavy<em> and it seems enough to drown her.

Getting out of bed is an insurmountable obstacle, and just trying makes her feel like she's run a marathon, but agitated sorrow hums under her skin and makes her want to run, as fast and as far as she can, until her legs fall out from under her and she's forgotten who she is. She's both desperate to escape and unable to move; dying to forget and unable to remember.

She tries to call up the sound of her mother's voice, but in the harsh red light of the sunset, all she can hear is Minerva McGonagall saying _they were found dead at - _and then James Potter saying _when you corner them _- and then Severus Snape saying _I don't need help from a - _and then Narcissa Black saying _mudbloods aren't worth -_ and then Petunia Dursley saying _my freak of a -_

She squeezes her eyes shut. _Expecto Patronum._

The first time she did magic - no, that won't do: Snape was there. When she got her Hogwarts letter - no, he was there, then, too, and so was Petunia sniffing _freak_. Being sorted into Gryffindor - no, that was never a very happy memory to begin with because she'd wanted to be in the same house as Snape. Getting nine OWLs - no, because that was just after Snape had called her a mudblood. Sitting up at the kitchen with James Potter - no, that was a painful conversation. You're a witch, you're one of us.

You're one of _us._

You don't _have_ to do it alone.

_Expecto Patronum._

A kangaroo hops off of her bed, and she follows it.

* * *

><p>Her train leaves at eight PM, and the idea is to get dressed, get packed up, and get down to dinner by six-thirty, and then McGonagall will escort her to the train station. She gets through the first two on little more than the kangaroo's inertia, but her steps falter outside of the Great Hall and nausea rolls through her at the smell of the food.<p>

_Expecto Patronum_, she thinks, but doesn't cast the spell.

Suddenly, it occurs to her that she fell asleep up in the hallway on James Potter's shoulder, and that he must have had to carry her back to the dorm. Something flutters inside of her, a tiny piece of gratitude at the small kindness, a little bubble of _belonging_.

You're one of _us._

Paranoia and grief and despair all whisper that she can't trust him, that he wants only one thing from her, that he'll take from her like Snape took from her, that he'll hurt her and leave her behind; but the part of her that's left underneath it all tells her that, in spite of everything, she'd still rather err on the side of having _too much_ faith in someone than too little.

(_Lily, no one should have to do this alone._)

She half-expects the hall to go silent when she walks in, but it doesn't. The din and the chaos of the dinner rush are almost enough to make her run in the opposite direction, but instead she bites her tongue, swallows the choking sob that threatens to pass her lips - _oh,_ the numb is trying to pass and she's trying _so_ to hold onto it, at least for the next half-hour, at least until she's alone on the train - and looks for a head of messy black hair.

She finds him at his usual spot, surrounded by his usual friends, and for a moment, she feels alone again because James Potter has _family_ here at Hogwarts while all she has is distant friends.

You're one of _us._

She walks over to him, trying to fill her mind with static so she doesn't remember her mother's face or her father's voice.

(How unfair, she thinks dimly, how unfair that she only remembers when she desperately doesn't want to.)

"James?" she says quietly, and he looks up at her. Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew look up at her, too, but either they've heard through the school's rumor mill or James told them, and so they don't crack any jokes. "I have a favor to ask you." She looks away almost compulsively, half-ashamed and half-defiant, and the rest of her sentence (_in private_) doesn't need to be said.

"Yeah, sure," he replies, standing up and glancing at his friends. "I'll see you later," he tells them, and Sirius salutes him, a fake-looking smirk on his face. It's nice of him, Lily thinks in that same dim way, to pretend that this is any other day.

Out of the Great Hall, they stand in awkward silence, partly because Lily can't find the words she wants to say and partly because she isn't sure her voice will work if she tries to speak, until he finally gives in to the need for small talk.

"I've got the notes from classes today," he says in a rush. "And good ones, mind, not like my usual notes. I even took notes in History of Magic, 'cause I know you really like that class and you know, it_ is _actually pretty interesting stuff when you can get over how bad a teacher Binns is. I don't know how you - "

"Can you come with me to the train station?" she asks suddenly, cutting him off. He looks at her, surprised.

"I..." he starts, and then runs a hand through his hair. "Sure, yeah, of course." _Why me?_ his face asks, and she's glad his voice doesn't, because she doesn't want to have to tell him. She looks away.

"Thank you," she says, and then - "How do you cope?" she chokes, her emotions stretched thin as she tries, with increasing desperation, to keep them under control.

He looks at her for a long, long moment. "I don't," he replies finally. "I'm a deer, remember? I just run. I try to forget, only that isn't really working. I've tried alcohol, but that just makes it worse, and I've tried - a lot of things," he says, cutting himself off before he says things that she probably doesn't want to hear. "I don't know how to cope," he finishes apologetically. "You couldn't pick a worse role model for dealing with grief."

That's a good thing, she doesn't know how to say. It's a good thing, she's standing next to someone who's just as lost as she is on this ocean, who's experienced so many of the same things she's going through and doesn't know any better than she does how to handle it. They're both floundering, and running, and trying to escape inevitable suffering - and it's a good thing, because it means that he's _right._

She doesn't _have _to do it alone. She can be lost and scared and desperate and in so much pain that she can't breathe for the weight, and she can know that - if nothing else, if no one else, if nowhere else - _someone_ has felt the same way.

"I don't either," she replies, and then smiles with her lips but not her eyes.

* * *

><p>At the train station, she stares with blank eyes at the tracks, waiting for it to come, to take her away from her hiding place (and from her hiding person). To take her back to a place that will never be home again, with people who will never be family again. Where she'll be alone in the crowd of mourners, lying about what happened to her parents and why, lying about what school she goes to, lying about who she is and what she wants and how she feels.<p>

Where she is not, never has been, and never will be _one of us._

"I don't think I thanked you," she says, still watching the tracks. "For finding me last night. It... means a lot to me."

"Any time," James replies warmly, empathetically. "I should have brought strawberries," he adds, with half a smile.

"They aren't in season," she says slowly, and then looks at him. "But apples are. I've heard that deer like apples."

"This one prefers strawberries, even the frozen kind."

For the first time in over a day, she smiles and means it, but it quickly fades. "You didn't have to," she says softly. "You didn't have to stay with me. I would have been... _eventually_ I would have been fine on my own."

She knows what he's going to say, which is why she prompted it. "But you're one of us," he says, reading from the script he sees in her face. "You don't have to do it on your own." She hugs him then, buries her face in his chest and wills herself not to cry, not here, not now. He holds her tightly, and somewhere - underneath the grief and the withdrawn sort of paranoia and the fear and the pain and the sense of betrayal she still feels when she sees Severus Snape - she knows that he means what he's saying.

He's not trying to manipulate her, or get anything from her. He's not here to use her grief as a way to make her rely on him. He's here because he's been here alone before and he knows how much it hurts, because neither of them know how to cope, because they both run when they're cornered and fight when they're not, because they are so very similar underneath their opposite facades, because they shared strawberries and shame and the agony of a broken friendship, because he cares when he has nothing to gain from caring - but mostly he's here because she _asked_ him to be here, and that's what really matters.

James Potter _cares_ about her. The knowledge drives a nail through her heart and she isn't sure why; it's like this realization has finally broken through the hazy distance she's felt since walking out of Flitwick's class, and now she finds that she's been cut through to the bone.

When the train comes, rattling and hissing and shaking its way up to the station, she clutches him tighter, desperate to run away from this visit, from the feeling of cornered inevitability she gets when she thinks about sitting at the funeral, from the claustrophobia of memory threatening to drive her mad.

The numb has passed entirely, and she _hurts_ so much right now.

She holds on for as long as she can, but then McGonagall says, in a soft voice, "Lily, it's time," and she pulls away, dry-eyed, and walks onto the train, head held high.

She doesn't look back at James, or say anything to him, because she's hurting and she's vulnerable and he's _James Potter_ and he cares about her and when she's cornered, she just runs.

She runs and runs and runs and never looks back.

Lily can almost _feel_ his disappointment and confusion, but then she thinks that maybe what she's feeling is her own.

(We're deer, remember? When you corner us, we just run.)

* * *

><p>As the train pulls into King's Cross, she dries her eyes and fixes her hair and makeup, but when she tries to stand, her knees go weak and she collapses back onto the seat. She closes her eyes and calls up the feeling of James Potter's heartbeat against her cheek, the taste of strawberries, <em>you're one of <em>us.

_Expecto Patronum._

She doesn't have to look at it to see that it isn't a kangaroo anymore.


End file.
